


Fate - A Word Worth Knowing

by a_k_copeman



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-29
Updated: 2010-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_k_copeman/pseuds/a_k_copeman
Summary: For Severus, fate is definitely a word worth knowing, especially when it comes to a Harry and love. Warning! quite maudlin, very mushy, probably not quite what you're expecting. Severus describes his feelings for Harry. Give it a chance?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

_ Fate - A word Worth Knowing _

I hate it when you do that. Yet, at the same time, I wouldn’t have you stop for the world. I wait for that smile every day, even though the chances of you bestowing it upon me are slim, the one that squeezes my heart like a vice, the one where your eyes seem to piece through my soul like a hot knife through butter. I hate that you can manipulate my feelings so easily; when once I was only too happy to be alone, I now yearn for your touch, for your smile, for your affection, your world. I crave to see your quirks in my life; I want to see you on my sofa, reading one of your books with that dopy smile on your face and your hand twirling in your hair. I’d do anything to keep you safe and happy, I already have, really, several times over, but I’d do them again and again and still much more just for you.

I’ve never felt this way before, this utter devotion to someone. I am man enough to say that it frightens me, just a little bit, for I know that you will never feel the same for me, despite what that smile seems to tell me. It’s all in my head, really. 

Is it my smile? Do you give it to others like Dumbledore gives away sweets? Probably, though I am glad to say I’ve never seen you do it. Why do you look at me like that? Why does it have such a devastating effect on me? Every time you look at me without it, I’m left with the cold disappointment of the truth; it’s simply a smile, and it’s all in my head. 

I dream of us in the future, together of course, with a home and a life, and quite possibly a family. Pathetic, isn’t it? I hardly know you. Well, of course I _know_ you; I know that you don’t care for others easily, only if they have earned the right to hold such a gift, and yet most of them don’t know the blessing they hold. I know you can be creative, when you wish to be, I’ve seen it myself. I know that you push yourself too hard, to the point you spent days in the hospital wing. I have a vain hope that if I could hold you in my arms, you might forsake all else, for just a little while, just to be with me. So yes, I suppose I know you, but I don’t know what makes you tick, what you truly think and feel, what you like, what you hate. What are your really relatives like? Not as caring as they should be, from what I have heard, but I want you to tell me. What’s your favourite colour? Trivial information, but still it seems so important. Mine’s purple, not that you’d care, obviously. 

Do you find me attractive? I could think of a million reasons why you shouldn’t, but one never knows. I find myself attracted to you, although I could pick faults, they don’t seem to really be wrong; they are irrelevant, I still want you, still want to wake up to you in the morning, to kiss your skin, and make love to you, to worship you, faults and all.

Do you believe in fate? I can’t help but believe in it. I’ve known you since before you were born, you see. I was friends with your mother, Lily was a wonderful person, which you seem to be too. She wrote me after we left school, told me of inconsequential things, never touched the subject of war, or our own separate parts in it. I got the most while she was pregnant with you, she loved to ramble on about the joys and pains of carrying you. You particularly liked to give full bodied stretches when you were old enough, despite the discomfort to Lily. At the time I had thought you already to be an ungrateful brat, but perhaps I might have been jumping the gun a bit. She practically cooed to me that you’d be sweet and caring in life because you’d stroke the inside of her belly when she was particularly irritated. It seems she was correct.

Your father was a horrible child and teenager. Ignorant, arrogant, a bully, disrespectful and just plain annoying. However, even I must admit he died a brave man for you and your mother.

See? Even before you were born our lives were tied together.

I’m afraid this is the point I must apologise for my past misdeeds. It was I who put your family in danger, the reason they were ultimately killed. The reason you spent your life unloved and neglected.

How could you ever forgive me, let alone care for me as I do you? 

It must have been fate, that day we were thrown together. I don’t know how I managed to cope, being so close to you yet unable to be with you. I sometimes curse the day that old bastard sentenced us to work together, help train each other, and look after one another. Sometimes, I praise him, because that was when I saw the most of my smile, (that is what I am determined to call it, even though I’m deluding myself). My smile, the one I love to see, but can’t stare at too long, less my eyes start to burn with the intensity of it all.

I hate that I feel jealousy so easily when it comes to you. Hearing your name in the hallway is all it takes to set me off, anger seeping into my veins. Worse still is the mere thought, let alone sight, of that red haired _girl_. I have no Godly right to hate her with such a passion, just the knowledge that she might have you, while I most likely never will. Yes, Miss Weasley is definitely one to keep an eye on. Miss Granger was too, until she became involved with the Weasley boy. 

Did you know that I look out for you? Do you feel my eyes on you in the classroom, or the great hall, desperate to see my smile again? Quite probably. I can’t say I’m subtle, but neither can I say that anyone else has noticed either. Or rather, they have and are too damn terrified to even think about bringing it up if they don’t want to be hexed into the next great adventure. Does it disturb you? Terrify you? Excite you? I doubt it. 

I won’t say that I love you. I can’t. Not yet, at least. I do care for you, in a way I thought I was no longer capable of, if I let myself love you now, the fall will be so much harder. But I could, so very easily, if only I knew you felt the same.

I wish you’d make the first move, for I don’t believe I am strong enough to. What if you want to, but you can’t either? Would the chance just slip by? Maybe I should say something. When you’ve graduated, perhaps? But it’s so many months away, how could I wait that long? When the war is over, and our lives are complication free? No, you’d already be gone. Maybe, and this is the most likely possibility of all, I’ll tell you, and you just won’t want anything to do with me.

**_Knock Knock_ **

Nobody ever comes down here, to my classroom, to my world, why did it have to be now, while the tears still dry on my sallow skin? I just about muster up the strength to march to the door, my heeled boots rapping sharply on the stone floor, just as I love them to, determined to be as intimidating as humanly possible, with a scowl on my face as I roughly wrench the door almost from its hinges.

…

Oh. 

“Hello Professor.” My breathing froze the first moments I saw you, just as it always does. “Can I come in please? I left my text book here.” You could have anything you wanted, you only have to ask. Maybe I should tell you that now? Maybe I shouldn’t be so desperately pathetic. God, you smell like you always do, that indescribable scent, so comforting and soft, I just want to bury my nose into your neck and smell it forever. 

The shape of your ass is perfect, round and pert, although I can’t help but wonder why you left your book under the bloody desk. “Professor?” Oh, there’s my smile, the one just for me, I love the way it curves around your teeth, always reaching your eyes. Oh God, your eyes, you are so beautiful. 

“Sir, do you believe in fate?”

The End


End file.
